Pen is mightier than the sword

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

82 highs in the sky at 6pm traffic
humidity takes it above 90
we just riding, late night driving
my passenger and me
not a plan event
I just scooped her up and off we went
no conversation, just sipping
Bartenura out of wine glasses
feeling the warm breeze
maxi dress above the knee
legs slightly spread for the breeze
breeze tease what's not worn underneath
she don't care about the air
letting flows wonderfully through her hair
she bopping to reggae vibez
not looking at no where
she rocking to close eyes
her left hand grasping my right thighours hands, out the window surfing to the wind
we high right now
on the evening smells
traffic sounds and cars all around...us
we riding
hours in, second bottle open
wind blowing dress higher to expose niceness
she leaning back starring through the sunroof
I guess she is wishing on the stars
I drive looking around and smiling
high off caribbean,
slightly tipsy off side peeping
WE riding
hours gone by, half tank gone now
her seat is back 90 degrees
the air drops 9 degrees
her left hand still reside pon mi knees
and her dress, is around her waist
legs collaspe open for that-
85 mile an hour air to splash against her seeping taste
me, looking like I don't see it
we driving
we driving with all lights flashing for us
moon to the west racing with us
the trucks next to me,
mans eyes are wide, but I laugh
she turns to him and smile
while taking that long sip of heaven
We riding until we just stop!

Eyes swollen,
sleep was in light intervals
Waiting on your return
assurance of your safety
conscious says, "phone check"... no miss calls or texts
Eyes swollen,
barely slept
eyes finally closed
but alarm rings
taking my time to get up
lost time, in mind, to get it together
I got to get it together
time waits for no one
so why should I wait for anyone
no why's, on waiting for someone
Eyes swollen,
but I keep them close in meditation
no more lost of sleep
no more eyes swollen when I wake
no worries of where abouts
just sleep
so I can wake up refreshed with
NO SWOLLEN EYES and worry free......

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Through your eyes
I see myself in reflection
but not in a conceited way
but reflection of me being the vision you wake to see
Through your eyes
I often wonder what they are saying in capture moments
and if they are saying what they are seeing to me
Through your eyes
I see beauty
the beauty that replaces the lustful characteristics... I see the beauty that makes you smile
every time you see your eyes looking at you
Through your eyes
I see heaven on earth in just on blink
but since I don't miss your eyes, I don't blink
every moment starring, is a memory
a means of making my heart smile
you have a majic that allures my attention
to keep my focus on you
to make me confess something emotional
through your EYES..........By LeRoyTNWGoetzendanner

She heard the name princess coming up
every boy tried skipping childhood to be a man for her
at 12 yrs old
She had a daddy and mommy at home
a seat in the choir
She was loved and embrace by all... until she fell in love
He swept her with just a smile and cologne
liking boys, her hormones loved a man
she wanted to grow
and genetics granted her that wish
before the summer she was just a number in age
flip those pages in matter of days
her body grades went to D's from straight A's
turning to the side shadowed an addition she had never seen
boys couldn't stop whistling and drooling
men, knowing better would double take and hunk their horns
but then came that smile and cologne
his expression never changed
he was looking her way, before metamorphosis came to play
he claimed her with attention
delegated her with love and kisses
lured her with invites to surrender her serenity
she was no longer purity
divinity was lowered to humility
when he ask her to prove her love through his friends
the same bonding life she was introduce to her
he wanted his boys to have that taste
she did it out of love
and he laughed with disgust
he left her alone in lust
She took every low blow while looking for him
hoping this would be icing for her king
She turned into a name in bathroom stalls,
laughter in halls
churches talked in whispers
parents lost all faith in her
she ran fast
as fast as her life turned before her
until a corner became a home she would know
no body missed her,
no body care no more.
she was black blooded, cold hearted
she is DAMAGED GOODS...

Friday, February 10, 2012

You may have seen this view a thousand timesnot the best of view like open curtains exposing sunshineThis is a nightmare you face in the dead of wakethat desperate moment, you should be giving the mind a breakThink man, Thinkconstantly banging pens to templelooking up and around for a signbut just one line don't come that simpleyou get up pacing,close your eyes thinkinglooking at your already accomplishmentsdown to your bawled up, scribble up unpublished penScreaming inside your head, "Why can I create a word or phrase"?this goes on what you think is a few hourstime flies by on your weekend days

Slammin, hand on desk"You call yourself a writer"?you have more conversation modesbut can't create a line, phrase or quoteThe waist of turning off phones, TVs and communicationwasn't quite the subtraction in distractionsbut reality in quietness that you have no thoughts in mindtaping on your keys, but no lines to typepulling out that journal, with no production in your write

This is a writers punishmentstaring at the corner at a stock pile paper accomplishmentsThink smart, not hard,shut down this process of no thoughtcome back later when you have something to bring to the drawing board.....

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Frozen for a moment.
This close to meeting him I would get
I had no words, just staring at greatness
Carved from stone.
He is watching the city watching him,
Like the day of his assassination... Still today, people look at him silence and tears
Moving to see more than just blacks looking at him
Anxious to take pictures with him
And smile with amazement to words through quotes
This is how celebrated your legacy, your birthday, and
Your dream.

You could be that pen guy or pen gyal
and this could be your mortuary for used pens
all your writes and creations producing piles of skeletons
pens that did there job and tossed to the side
after bleeding their last drop

How big is your pile?

Mine,

lets say I could I fill the back of a U haul
enough papers to plant refurbish trees into the environment
more spilled inks that if ink was blood
red cross would never have a shortage
I love each pen equally
never claiming favorites
so........

How big is your pile?

I don't quite call mine a pile
more like a collection of great tools
that served their enlightenment to poetry
entitlement to being a writers weapon
acknowledgement to being a poets life saver
a instrument that......
that later retired in a grave lying among the greatest
I still look at them as new pieces through old writings
I hold them in my hand and remember titles
with bangin ass deliveries and messages
that left with minds that were once empty
so I ask

How big is your pile?

I refuse to give them that disrespect
these are my pen pales
when I had no friends before pens
this is a monument of sacrificial accomplishments
laid perfectly to rest
joining once again with pen friends they haven't seen one another
since the creation of pen men.
My pile is not big
just stands tall enough to be notice
and we all notice that you are not a pile
just a mountain of retired pens laying together
pass your torch
and continue to fight
appreciation with dedications
write pen write